Scarlet Bar.

Dim lights, red and green neon glows, swaying souls dancing non-stop through the night.

When I arrived at the private booth, Clarie was sipping orange juice. Her nails were painted a soft pink, tapping the glass countertop absentmindedly, while glancing at her watch from time to time—clearly, she’d been waiting too long.

I snorted and pushed the door open.

“Only someone like you, Clarie, would come to a bar and order orange juice. Truly unique!”

“Heh. Linda, don’t you remember? You were the one who taught me to drink orange juice in bars.”

“You learn fast. Too bad I never taught you how to cheat—yet here you are,...